


the marionette's strings

by Nebbles



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Gen, Horror, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25694185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: The march out of Enbarr crawled through his mind at a tortuously slow pace. The people spat venom at him, words assailing him like a rain of arrows, almost worse than the trash thrown.Aegir was no longer a name that belonged in the Empire.Traitor, turncoat, murderer, backstabber, Ferdinand Von Aegir -- they were one in the same. Any scorn thrown upon him was earned.------Years have passed since Adrestia's fall, yet the wounds continued to fester, clawing into the furthest recesses of Ferdinand's mind.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24
Collections: Calamity's Advent





	the marionette's strings

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first of two pieces I wrote for Calamity's Advent, a horror/angst zine filled with many wonderfully talented people! Please check it out here: https://twitter.com/InvincibleZine/status/1290290668787695616?s=20
> 
> Happy angsting! :)

Hollow wings furled around the gilded throne that laid upon the Imperial castle, obscuring its gleams with darkness. The halls Ferdinand once admired, once wanted to serve and honor, were choked in the same husk that seemed to overtake Enbarr itself. No matter where his eyes traveled, no light came. It was beyond any darkness he’d ever known, seeking to snuff out even the faintest sun.

It was suffocating.

Isolating.

Ice coursed through his veins, despite the sweltering heat he felt cling to his body, which seemed to be unable to move.

A pair of red eyes peered at him. Judging, analyzing, looking down upon him as if he were nothing. Long claws drifted to his chin, and then settled upon his throat. They did not move to sever his head clean from his shoulders, despite the way they danced along his skin. Razor-sharp nails rested over his pulse, its rhythm growing erratic.

The touch was cold to the skin, as if small, jagged icicles were embedding themselves into Ferdinand’s body. At the same time, uncomfortable heat bled throughout his veins. His skin crawled as if the legs of small insects barbed in acid skittered about, uncomfortable and itchy and foreign. It could not be described as a touch of this earth, something natural in Fodlan. It defied all logic, overwhelmed his senses, and he wanted it to stop.

“You left the Empire.”

Ferdinand tried to speak, but nothing came forth.

“Traitors do not deserve their tongue.”

Ferdinand’s gaze trailed to the side, half-lidded, shame overtaking his expression.

The hand around his throat lifted him into the air, inspecting him, as if he was not worthy to stand in this mockery of a throne room.

Her wings curled around him like a poisonous embrace. They creaked and groaned the closer they drew around his body, sweeping up tendrils of darkness with every movement. It held no comfort or warmth like Ferdinand had once wished it would.

He did not desire romance from Edelgard; he had desired companionship, to stand as equals (to outpace her, even), shining beacons within the Empire’s capital. Such a simple desire had been twisted into something horrid, something that smelled of rot and made his stomach churn.

To think this was self-inflicted furthered the horror that overtook his senses.

Ferdinand had never fancied dark magic. It unnerved him, the dark wisps of miasma that would come forth from the hands of the mages they fought, how it coursed through their bodies like a river or mire. He’d seen the effect it had on others, how when bringing harm to his friends they’d double over and vomit, desperate for the darkness to stop clawing at their insides, as it threatened to devour them whole. It was one subject he was fine to keep a distance from.

And yet, here lay an example of its worst follies. Red eyes boring into his soul, Edelgard’s skin pulled thin over the carapace that was devouring her body.

Guidance was all he’d wished to give her. Perhaps it could have prevented this, from her humanity melting away into the surrounding darkness.

He wished to apologize. His throat begged to make a noise (he was told he could not speak, but he cannot give up, not now). Attempts came out rasped and strangled, pitiful. Fear shone in Ferdinand’s eyes as the husk’s eyes narrowed, lips contorting into something of a snarl.

Edelgard had always hated him, hadn’t she? A terrible realization to have, but darkness offered no comforts. The walls Ferdinand put around his heart, to protect it from the terrible ache of raising a lance to the Empire, peeled off and cracked like old wallpaper clinging to an abandoned home, never to bathe in the sun’s warmth.

He was never to be a part of the ideal world she envisioned. Like his father, Ferdinand was to be cast to the flames, to be made an example of.

How he had tried to separate himself from his father. How he had wanted to reform Aegir and learn the ways of the common folk, to familiarize himself with the people he had sworn to protect. A true noble, he had labeled himself, in a league of his own.

Truly, he was no better, and this was penance for his selfish notions.

He loved the Empire. He loved Adrestia.

Yet he rose his lance skyward to tear it asunder.

“You spilled Adrestian blood.” The claw sunk further into his neck, fire and ice at once assailing his nerves as his own began to wet his skin, thick and sticky. “The people were right to have cast your name to the fires of hell.”

The march out of Enbarr crawled through his mind at a tortuously slow pace. The people spat venom at him, words assailing him like a rain of arrows, almost worse than the trash thrown.

Aegir was no longer a name that belonged in the Empire.

Traitor, turncoat, murderer, backstabber, Ferdinand Von Aegir -- they were one in the same. Any scorn thrown upon him was earned.

Ferdinand’s body felt terribly heavy. Like a marionette, trapped under the whims of a cruel puppeteer, Ferdinand's body hung limp under the claws of the emperor.

Dried blood caked his skin, stiffening his movements, his joints, as the sensation spread. All feeling lost to him, unable to even perform the simple action of closing his eyes, Ferdinand was forced to see carnage below him.

A vision of himself robed in crimson blossomed forth.

This Ferdinand, one he doesn't dare to recognize, wielded his lance for an Empire he didn't support. There seemed to be no sun in his eyes, as if a fog swirled underneath.

Hate for Adrestia was something he never carried; its destruction was something he didn't wish to coat his hands with. Despite being unable to follow Edelgard's vision, it never meant he supported its downfall. It was foolish to wish for a bloodless war, for peace to come with ease.

Flashes of another side of the war came to pass. The destruction of Myrddin, and the collapsing Alliance in its wake. Faerghus' snow stained with blood. Adrestia's throne sat upon a mountain of corpses, its emperor looking upon her destruction with pride. It was the only way. It was best for Fodlan, to bring it to a new age, she would say. That it could look towards the future and flourish.

Somehow, through the thick haze, the pungent rot of death was all Ferdinand could smell. Had he the ability to, Ferdinand would have vomited.

With a twitch of her clawed fingers, Ferdinand's body jerked in another direction, the hollow sound of wooden limbs echoing in the expanse.

Never did he wish to be Edelgard's puppet. How cruel it was for him to remember such a sentiment.

As the Alliance and Kingdom crumbled to dust, the throne followed. It fell to the ground of this seemingly endless void, its gold and red overrun by rust, dried blood caking its edges. Aymr sat upon its armrests, still as the Emperor's corpse, no light emanating from the relic that once made Ferdinand's hair stand on end. Shadow obscured his vision for but a moment, and once sight was granted to him again, a body found itself among the ruin.

The emperor's corpse, Ferdinand's lance buried into her heart, faced him with hollow eyes.

Hubert's followed, alongside the body of his father. Adrestian bodies piled upon each other like a macabre mountain, its sides run with blood.

"You could have saved them."

Ferdinand wasn't sure who's voice that was. His own? Edelgard's, Hubert’s? It sounded so foreign, so horribly unfamiliar as his eyes were forced to look upon the carnage painted before him.

This was his fault.

Fighting for justice, for what he deemed noble, was this all the most Ferdinand had to offer? Was this what he amounted to, nothing more than a filthy traitor who was pathetic enough to shed tears over the ones he deemed the enemy? To feel guilt as he joined the attack on the capital, covering his lance in Adrestian blood?

Not to mention his failure in restoring Aegir; how the people turned on him as he marched away from the capital, how they were quick to oust him from the Empire as if they had never wished for him to reside there in the first place.

Perhaps the people had always hated his father, had hated the Aegir name, and were glad to get rid of such a poison seeping into the Empire. Was that not why Edelgard was so swift to strip him of his title? To not care as bandits pillaged his father’s corpse and left it to the maws of the demonic beasts?

Was all he fought for meaningless?

A red-stained river ran beneath his feet, corpses melting into them, their flesh and bones a thick paste that did nothing to abate its waters.

“You should join them.”

Suddenly, the strings snapped, and Ferdinand found himself falling into the mire below.

Moments later he awoke with a start, cold sweat drenching his forehead, eyes beset with fear.

He reached to brush shaky fingers across his throat, pulling them back after a moment to choke out a pitiful noise of relief -- and oh, he could still _speak_ \-- that blood does not coat them. A cursory glance told him that he was no longer in that murky void, that hellscape, and he was situated in his bedroom, veiled in safety.

His wonderful husband, his rose, Lorenz was still asleep, unaware of Ferdinand’s state. Ferdinand chewed on his lip, before deciding it was best to let him rest. It’s just another nightmare. This was nothing new.

Slowly did he climb out of bed, quiet footsteps walking among the Gloucester estate.

Their daughter was fast asleep in her room nearby, not a care in the world. The gardens they’d spent years growing together drifted softly in the breeze, moonlight dancing upon soft petals. The air carried nothing but peace, the idyllic notion of domesticity present throughout the manor. While his acumen for politics and governance helped Gloucester flourish by the side of his love, he could not help but feel as if something was missing.

He would have welcomed the difficulties that managing both Aegir and Gloucester would have brought them, traveling between both territories, finding yet another challenge to overcome, hand in hand. But he was a failure, and Aegir slipped between his fingers like grains of sand. His people -- could he even call them his people? -- would rather display his head upon a pike for leading the charge against his home.

An uncomfortable feeling bubbled in his stomach. Would such a cruel death be deserved? It wasn’t as if Ferdinand wished to die, and yet… and yet, if he had, he would not have to feel such shame.

Even with Fodlan’s unification, even with the reparations that have been given to the Empire, it was not enough. It would never be enough. Had he not been branded a traitor, had he been able to return home, for even just a moment…

A pitiful laugh bubbled in his throat, and did it not take long for it to turn into a sob.

Edelgard won in the end, had she not? She had proven herself superior to him, even in death. She had banished him from the Empire, leaving a piece of his soul buried into what was once a land he wished to help prosper. He had driven his lance through Hubert’s chest, and he did nothing but watch as Dimitri’s pierced Edelgard’s.

Happiness was a privilege that felt lost to him. No matter how many blessings he could count for himself, such pain would always find a way to remind him of his place, a traitor who tried to lose himself in the better life he had attempted to build.

Did he regret his marriage, his wonderful family? That was not it. That could never be it.

But Ferdinand wondered if he was worthy of this life. Of _his_ life.

The optimism he had carried with himself for years felt so distant, never to be in his reach once more. It had crumbled along with the Imperial palace and buried under debris and rubble, unable to be unearthed. Even had it found the light of day once more, it would have been broken, its pieces too small, unable to be put back together once more.

It was not something Ferdinand wanted to accept. How broken he felt, how he feared a part of him was lost to time, how he could not will himself to cut ties with Aegir.

It was his home. He often spent his days dreaming of succeeding and exceeding his father, leading his land and name into glory.

Could he still consider himself a man worthy of nobility? He failed to achieve his goals, unable to accept his failure with grace. It was a bitter pill he could not swallow, one that triggered his gag reflex. His only contributions were to benefit every land but his own. He wished to take pride in his actions, and yet it felt more impossible with every sob he tried to bite back, bitter as the bile that threatened to rise in the back of his throat.

Here Ferdinand was, quietly crying to himself in the middle of the night, left with nothing but the acrid taste of regret staining his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, make sure to leave a comment/kudos! If you want to hear about future works and rambles, make sure to follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/that_nebbles)


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